


Dragonflies

by Minita



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Burning of KL, Canon Compliant, Day 2 Sugar and spice event, F/M, Fluff, Jon returns, Mentions of the past, Post Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 16:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minita/pseuds/Minita
Summary: Sansa receives a visitor and a gift. Brief mention of the burning of KL. Written for day 2 of Jonsa sugar and spice





	Dragonflies

A year ago.

Jon feels numb. His head heavy on his shoulders. The smell of charred flesh is choking him. He keeps walking. He sees the groups of men he had Davos sent that morning to pick up the dead, to lay wood planks against the walls to stop them from crumbling on the people seeking shelter. In the distance he can hear faint cries of children.

He looks upward the rubble of the Red Keep and sighs. He has to go up there and face her. He must. A burst of light suddenly dances in front of his eyes. He blinks and then the creature becomes real. Its glittery wings and gracious body are perfect. The dragonfly sets on a wall. Jon’s gut twists inside him. A distant memory he can’t quite grasp. And then he sees her with his mind’s eye. Sansa.

Now.

Sansa’s feet are sore. So much dancing. She was of course cheerful, hard not to. It’s been a difficult year but she’s proud of all the hard work. She got a parcel in the morning from Arya containing beautiful fabric from across the sea and a note in her sister’s uneven writing: “I thought you may want to sew something with it. Congratulations on the first year of your coronation Your Grace.”

After the feast she just want to rest. She takes off her boots and presses the foreign fabric in her hands. It’s very dark, almost black and when she moves it the light bounces in the delicate feather like patterns. She’s reminded of a large feather she has in her drawer. She holds it in the dim light and hears herself say: “Aunt Lyanna.”

A soft knock on the door interrupts her memories. It must be her maid with some herb tea to help with sleeping, “come in.” The girl remains silent while Sansa’s mind wanders, and then a sudden smell of leather makes her heart jump a beat, “Jon.”

He materialises in front of her. His curls are wild and is wearing all black. She doesn’t know how but she’s in his arms, her feet don’t touch the floor. He grins widely at her, “Congratulations on the first anniversary of your reign Your Grace.”

She doesn’t want to let go. However, they end up sitting by the fire on a bear rug. Jon’s barefoot but he must be melting in his Night’s Watch doublet. “A raven warning me would have been nice,” Jon stares at her, “It wouldn’t have been a surprise then,” “hmmm”. An hour passes or a minute, she can’t tell for sure. Jon gets up and grabs his bag, he produces a little cloth bundle that he puts in her hands. “I wish I had something better to give the Queen in the North but a man of the Night’s Watch doesn’t really own much”.

Sansa opens it and grabs the silver chain. A small shape dangles from the end. “A dragonfly?” She hasn’t seen one of this since...

Jon

He should have known this was stupid. Sansa is not a little girl, she’s Queen, she has other jewels to wear, much better ones, but why is she crying?. Sansa’s sobs calm down little by little. Her head feels heavy on his chest, he hugs her tightly with both arms. When she’s silent he kisses her forehead and rocks her softly. 

Sansa lifts her head and says, “did you say a man of the Night’s Watch doesn’t own much?” He nods. “You know nothing”. Her eyes are the colour of the night sky, “You own something that is of great value. Something northern lords dream of having” “Do I?” She nods, “you own my heart.”

He feels a lump in his throat, “wow, and it only cost me a tin pendant I had our smith made from scraps”. Sansa laughs loudly and kisses his mouth. He finds himself responding eagerly, her tongue tastes like wine and in his heart he can feel a warm thing growing. He can barely breath, “I love you. I love you, Sansa, my girl, my sweet girl, Sansa.”

His hands are coarse on her delicate neck and his fingers look dirty against her pearly cheeks. He touches her face, her hair, he kisses her closed lids and murmurs in her ear, “I love you. Can I stay?” Sansa combs his curls and nods at him. She doesn’t speak. They will need to talk. About so much. He will write to the Night’s Watch in the morning. Or is it morning already?. He can’t tell. 

Sansa snores lowly by his neck. He carries her to bed and covers her with the furs. As the light of dawn creeps through the window he can hear the buzz of dragonflies flying outside.


End file.
